Lady Right
by Exwhyzed
Summary: Denethor still hasn't married, and Ecthelion has his own suspicions as to why...


**Disclaimer:** J.R.R. Tolkien owns these characters, not me, and I am making no money from this.

Lady Right

* * *

The night was old when Ecthelion II, Steward of Gondor, finally finished his paperwork. There had seemed to be mountains of the stuff, much of it provisions for the coming war, which Ecthelion had long since realised would come to pass when his days were over. But the impending conflict was not what worried the old Lord now as he reclined in his chambers, staring into the dimming fire from afar.

What troubled the Steward was not any matter concerning the recent conflict with Harad, or Orcs, but the fact that his son Denethor was still disappointingly single. The lad was pushing fifty, and yet still had not found a woman he deemed suitable. Whenever Ecthelion brought the matter up with him, Denethor would brush him off, saying he could not stand to wed someone he despised, and unfortunately he had nothing but this sentiment for all the courtiers he had met thus far.

Ecthelion was beginning to worry about the future of his line. He knew his time was nearly through, and that the rod of the stewardship would pass to Denethor, who he knew would be a capable ruler. But what of Denethor's nonexistent son? If the boy did not have an heir, their line would be ended, and the stability the realm had enjoyed for so long would all but disappear. And this was hardly the time for quarrels over the Stewardship! War was nearly upon them! Did Denethor not understand this? Why did he have to be so difficult? Marriage wasn't all romance, the boy knew this, so why then did he insist on waiting around for Lady Right to come along? And how he should even expect there to _be_ a Lady Right when he never seemed to enjoy the company of women was quite unfathomable to Ecthelion.

Unless …

Oh.

It surprised Ecthelion, really, that he hadn't thought of it before. He supposed he must have been too occupied with the war, and Thorongil … that he had not known of his own son's … preferences …

_Stop_ _this madness_, the Steward mentally chided himself. He was jumping to conclusions. Something to be expected, really, for one so old, but now was not the time for slips of the mind. He should not pin such things on his son. Just because Denethor had no intention of marrying yet didn't mean that he … after all, the threat of Mordor was growing ever stronger, his mind would naturally be focused on that …

Thus Ecthelion comforted himself, and dwelled no more on the subject for some time.

* * *

The servants finished laying the table, and Ecthelion, Denethor and Thorongil sat down to dine. The Lord of Gondor had expected his son to display his usual tacit displeasure at Thorongil's presence, and so was rather surprised when the two chatted quite amiably about the customs of Dol Amroth, having both journeyed there recently.

'And Imrahil, they are right when they say he fair almost as his sister, are they not?' Thorongil inquired over dessert.

'Oh yes,' Denethor replied, sipping his wine. 'Very comely.'

Ecthelion probably would not have thought much of this remark, had he not previously deliberated the future of the House of Húrin so thoroughly. That and he had never heard Denethor so readily comment on another person's attractiveness, be they male or female. He hid his discomfort.

* * *

'… So I think, sire, that we should invite a company from Dol Amroth to join the festivities,' finished Denethor smoothly.

'The road to Minas Tirith has grown perilous in recent years …' Ecthelion began, but trailed off when he caught sight of something glinting on Denethor's hand. It was a large silver ring, set with a sparkling blue stone. It reflected beams of light into the Steward's eyes, and he blinked.

'Where did you get that?'

Denethor blinked back. 'Nowhere in particular.'

Ecthelion, puzzled, regarded his son carefully for a moment before he conceded. 'Very well, I will do as you wish …'

At this Denethor's expression seemed to brighten, and he thanked his father, before sauntering off down the corridor. Ecthelion gazed after him a while, quite unsure of what to make of him.

He had never known his son to enjoy wearing such lavish jewellery. It must be a recent development on Denethor's part. Flamboyance had never been characteristic of the boy, however, vain though he might be. Hadn't it?

And it suddenly dawned on Ecthelion just how little he knew his own son.

The past few years he had spent nearly every waking moment on Gondor's military conflicts, gathering reinforcements from far and wide, strengthening his realm against the rising might of Mordor. But all this, it seemed, had robbed him of time that could have been spent with his son. And then there was the matter of Thorongil … with a pang of guilt Ecthelion remembered his endless praise of his Captain, and all the while Denethor silent and stony faced. It was true then, he supposed, that he had come to hold the stranger from the north higher in his esteem than his own child. But it seemed that no one in Gondor could rival his Captain, not even his heir. And Ecthelion knew he was not the only one to feel this way, and that the people of Gondor shared his sentiment. And that made Denethor's position all the more insecure.

Ecthelion wondered if Denethor's coming second all the time in the eyes of the nation had not … damaged him somewhat. After all, casual neglect could do terrible things to a person. Perhaps that was the reason for his strange behaviour. Perhaps he was merely seeking attention. Well then, Ecthelion intended to give it to him. If nothing else, it would serve to give him time to catch up with his son.

* * *

When Ecthelion entered his son's chambers several weeks later, he was surprised to find that his heir had done a fair bit of redecorating. Where there once had been only black, there now was blue, like the gem set in Denethor's ring. Which, the Steward noted, he was still wearing.

'Well?' Denethor said, looking at him expectantly.

'Well what?'

'What do you think?'

Ecthelion blinked again. He couldn't remember the last time Denethor had asked his opinion on so trivial a matter. He coughed slightly. 'Well … it's very nice, son …' His eyes came to rest on two large red boxes, piled on a desk in the corner.

Denethor followed his gaze, and his manner became suddenly uneasy. 'Excuse me, sire …' he said, striding forward and lifting one of the boxes. It seemed to be quite heavy, and he struggled off into to his bedchamber with it.

Ecthelion's eyes narrowed in annoyance. What was his son trying to hide from him? Glancing over at the desk again he noted that one of the boxes was still there. It couldn't hurt to have a look, as Denethor was clearly doing something he shouldn't …

He went over to the red box and cracked open the lid. It was filled with smaller boxes, which on closer inspection contained … powder? Hairbrushes? _Skin cream?_

When had his son turned into a complete fop?

Oh.

Oh Valar, his suspicions had been true …

Denethor re-entered the room to find his father boring a hole through a perfume bottle with his gaze. He paled. 'Father?' he said softly, almost fearfully.

Ecthelion slowly turned and met his son's eyes. 'When were you planning to tell me of this?' he murmured dangerously, the perfume dangling from his fingers.

'Father, I-'

'You thought I would not discover your secret? Do you take me for a fool, boy?'

'No my Lord, never, but-'

'But what?' Ecthelion snapped. 'How do you expect to keep the honour of our line through behaviour such as this? We of the House of Húrin have not endured these many centuries only to be ruined at last by some foppish whelp and his "personal tastes!" I will not have my only son be the laughing stock of Middle-earth!'

'But Father, many men these days also-'

'No buts! I want you to send all this back to wherever it came from.'

'My Lord, you are being completely unreasonable. I shall not yield to your demands.'

'Yes you will!'

'No, I will not!'

Ecthelion made a noise that sounded very much like a mûmak with a knot its trunk, before he sighed. 'Fine, then. Fine. My days are drawing to an end. At least I shall not live to see outcome of this.'

'What? Are you unwell, sire?' Denethor looked concerned. 'Why did you not tell me this? I suppose you only felt it necessary to inform Thorongil?' He frowned in irritation.

'I am perfectly well, my son! Why do you say otherwise? And Thorongil has nothing to do with this!'

'You said yourself you would not live to see the Yuletide festivities!'

'What? I said no such thing!'

'Yes you did! You snapped at me for my choice of dress for the ball, and then said you were glad you wouldn't live to see it!'

Ecthelion became aware that something was not right in this conversation. 'Hush a moment, my son. I do not think we are speaking of the same matter.'

Denethor looked puzzled. 'Then what …' a look of dawning comprehension passed over his face. '_Personal tastes_ …' He glared at Ecthelion. 'You think I am _what_?'

Ecthelion blinked again, shocked. It appeared he had been too hasty in dealing out judgement. He was in trouble. 'Well, I …'

'Yes, Father?' said Denethor, his voice soft and menacing.

Ecthelion grasped at metaphorical straws which with which he could defend himself. 'I thought … why did you try to hide this from me?'

'I thought you would mock me, though evidently it gave you other ideas …'

There was an uncomfortable silence.

'I trust then, that you are accompanying a lady on the evening?'

'Of course!' snapped Denethor. 'Finduilas of Dol Amroth. I would marry _her_, Father.'

'I am glad to hear it,' Ecthelion replied.

'Her favourite colour is blue, you know.'

'I see.'

'Good,' said Denethor. 'Now get out.'

* * *

Relaxing in his favourite chair in his apartments, Ecthelion gazed blearily into the fire. It had been a very trying day. He was assured that his son at least had his priorities straight, though it seemed that that had come at the expense of his already strained relationship with Denethor. It would take months, perhaps years, for him to make satisfactory amends. Had the knowledge been worth it? All he need have done, in retrospect, was to wait for the Yuletide festivities and see for himself if Denethor participated to his liking. Another sign of his sharp mind losing its edge. He had been so out of touch with the times that he had not known that foppish behaviour had become fashionable. It irked him, as there were much more important matters at hand, Why, back in _his_ day …

No, he would not reminisce constantly about his youth, something his own father had been wont to do in his later years. Well, he mused, rubbing his temples in an attempt to stave off a headache, at least his son had found Lady Right. That was something.

* * *

I was inspired by A. L. Milton's awesome D/F fic 'Smoke and Steel: Smoke Nights', where Ecthelion is suspicious of his son's … orientation, though that isn't the main focus of the story at all. That and the fact that Denethor did marry late. I just had to write about it, it was too good ... XD

Well, I hope you like it! Please review!


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